


Kindness, not weakness

by Multifandom_damnation



Category: The Order (TV 2019)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Childhood Trauma, Denial of Feelings, Drinking to Cope, Emotional Manipulation, Emotionally Repressed, Excessive Drinking, Gaslighting, Gen, Heavy Drinking, Hiding Medical Issues, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jealousy, Pack Family, Self-Worth Issues, Survivor Guilt, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25681579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multifandom_damnation/pseuds/Multifandom_damnation
Summary: Randall wasn’t quite sure how it happened. He didn’t think that it started right from the beginning, but it also felt like something naturally ingrained into him, something that came as easily as breathing, so readily that he couldn’t imagine it being any different.Hamish was the leader. Lilith was the brawn. Jack was the heart. Randall was the kindness. Part of being the accidental designated carer of the group meant knowing when people you loved weren’t actually fine despite how much they tried to say otherwise.
Relationships: Lilith Bathory & Randall Carpio & Hamish Duke & Jack Morton
Comments: 8
Kudos: 55





	Kindness, not weakness

**Author's Note:**

> I have many things to say. First of all, this was a killer to edit. I am now on hour four. Also, Jack's grandfather? Was the worst?? I hate him and how he treated Jack. I also wish we knew more about Cassie and the other wolves! Do we know their names? How many did Hamish lose? Was he the only survivor or was Cassie the only one who died, or did Hamish lose a whole pack?? I don't know! I need to know! Anyway. I'm exhausted now, so enough from me, but I hope you enjoy it!!

Randall wasn’t quite sure how it happened. He didn’t think that it started right from the beginning, but it also felt like something naturally ingrained into him, something that came as easily as breathing, so readily that he couldn’t imagine it being any different.

He’d always thought himself as a bit of a carer. Maybe that was why he’d so easily worked his way up to RA and why he had excelled at it. He liked helping the new kids around the school and escorting them to all the best places around campus after hours. He took pride in his work and loved seeing students he had once mentored scurrying around the campus without a map like they owned the place. It made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Maybe that was why he had fallen into the missing little niche within the Knights with ease. The role of the carer. It made perfect sense if he really stopped to think about it. Hamish was the leader. Lilith was the brawn. Jack was the heart. Randall was the kindness. While he could be wild and reckless and carefree at times, he at least knew his limits. Part of being the accidental designated carer of the group meant knowing when people you loved weren’t actually fine despite how much they tried to say otherwise.

It was obvious with Jack. Jack tended to feel everything so strongly, the good and the bad. He sometimes forgot to look before he leapt. He was smart and inquisitive and had the best memory out of all the Knights. He was new, but he had already been through so much during his short tenure, more so than any other champion had. But right away, before he was a Knight, before he was in the Order, when he was just a new student looking for some guidance and a friend, Randall had seen the anger. Greybeard had felt it too. Deep anger that settled on his bones and pulsed just beneath his skin. A perpetual fixture. But there was sadness there, too, hidden more carefully than the anger, and it was something that Randall hadn’t expected. 

Which was why he returned back to the Knights Den after his last class of the day, he wasn’t too surprised to find Jack already there, standing behind the bar with a drink in his hand and a raided liquor cabinet behind him. “Hamish isn’t going to be very happy when he finds out what you’ve done to his liquor cabinet,” Randall said as a greeting. “It took him hours to get the order just right.”

“Fuck Hamish,” Jack murmured uncharacteristically as he threw back the rest of the amber coloured liquid in his glass before slamming it back down on the bar to join the other empty, dirty glasses. “And fuck his liquor cabinet.”

“Well, that was uncalled for,” Randall muttered as he dropped his bag by the door and moved to join Jack at the bar, where he promptly poured himself another drink. “Where is Hamish, anyway? Obviously not here if you’re getting away with drinking all his strong stuff.”

“He’s in a class, I think,” Jack gestured vaguely, sounding uninterested. “I don’t think he’ll be back for a while.”

Sighing, Randall ran a hand down his face. He could feel Greybeard pacing back and forth anxiously within his ribcage, a clear sign that something just wasn’t quite right. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jack’s answer was instant and sure. “No,”

“Yet you’ve resorted to drinking the hard stuff before midday.”

“Says the guy who settles life or death decisions with beer pong.”

There were so many things that Randall wanted to say in response to that, but the look on Jack’s face made him reconsider. “Alright,” he conceded. “Well, if you ever want to talk, you know where to find me.”

He made a big show of walking away very slowly, admiring the things that had been there for as long as Randall’s been there, sticking his hands in his pockets and whistling as he walked, taking his sweet time crossing the room by being distracted by anything and everything because he knew that when it came to Jack, patience was key, and when Jack was a couple of drinks in, he wouldn’t have to wait very long.

“They were talking shit about my grandfather,” Jack mumbled into his glass, voice unusually sharp. “Some jocks on the football team. Said they overheard us talking on campus sometimes.”

“Uh-huh,” Randall said, turning back around and slowly making his way over again. “And what was he saying to get you so upset?”

By the hard set of his jaw, Randall knew that even repeating the words was making Jack angry all over again. “Called him a crazy old man,” he practically spat the words. “Said that he was  _ abusive  _ and that he was  _ impressed  _ that I lasted as long as I did. Said if it had been him getting- what was the term-  _ gaslighted  _ by someone like that, he would have left long ago.”

That wasn’t something Randall had expected at all, and he understood why Jack was so angry, but at the same time… it would make sense. “Was he?” Randall asked. “Abusive?”

The look Jack sent him could curdle blood, “Of course not,” he scoffed. His face was flushed, and Randall couldn’t tell if it was from the anger or the alcohol. “He was the greatest guy I ever knew. He was my idol, I always wanted to be like him. He only ever wanted what was best for me.”

Randall felt his heart plunge to his stomach. He may not have been a psych student, but he knew that the phrase ‘he only wanted what was best for me’ could never, not in a million years, mean anything good. “Well, if you knew he loved you, then I guess what other people say doesn’t really matter then.”

“He was always there for me. Always pushing me to be better,” Jack continued like Randall hadn’t spoken. “He was the only reason I got to where I am, you know. He enrolled me into every extra-curricular activity and made sure my grades were up to get into Belgraves. If it weren’t for him keeping me on the right track all my life, I never would have gotten into the Order.”

“Wait,” Randall had too many puzzle pieces falling into place in his head. “You’re telling me that your entire life has been dedicated to getting into the Order?”

Jack made a face as he downed another drink and pulled away with a faint gasp. “Uh? Yeah?”

“What about sports? Or hobbies?” Randall tried. “Did you have any of those?”

Frowning, Jack merely shrugged as he ran his finger around the rim of the glass. “If it didn’t have anything to do with improving my grades or reputation then we didn’t bother with it.”

“What about friends?”

“I think that  _ you  _ were the first friend I ever made.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Jack, but that’s pretty messed up,” Randall said. “You’re telling me that your entire life has been dedicated to getting revenge on Coventry? You were never allowed to just be a kid for a little bit? To lead an average life?”

“Coventry killed my mother. Getting to him was the only thing that mattered. Pop’s had a plan that he’d been building for years, and he wasn’t going to let me get in the way of that,” Jack paused then, brow furrowed as if he were only beginning to make sense of what he was saying. “But, like, it wasn’t all bad. We celebrated all my achievements and al that. It meant that we were one step closer to Coventry.”

Greybeard stirred, an angry, visceral reaction to the disgust Randall was feeling, and it took everything he had to settle him back down and prevent him from forcing his way out through his skin. “Holy shit, Jack. Once again, not a psych student, but that sounds like brainwashing to me.”

The expression that rippled across Jack’s face broke his heart. “Oh, come on man, not you too!”

“Listen to yourself, Jack. Can you hear what you’re saying?” Randall tried, walking closer so he could rest his hand on Jack’s before he could reach out for another glass. Randall looked at him intently, but Jack wouldn’t meet his eyes, too lost in his own thoughts muddled by an alcohol-induced haze. “You were a prisoner in your own home. A soldier in your grandfather’s war. He was using you, Jack. You have to see that, right? You have to know that you didn’t get to have a normal life, or a normal childhood, even?”

Jack was abnormally silent, and his eyes were unusually sad. He looked so confused that Randall actually felt sorry for him. “He was the only family I’ve ever had,” he near-whispered, so quiet that Randall almost didn’t hear him.

“Then maybe the reason that you’re so angry and drinking Hamish’s stash to forget what happened today,” Randall said gently. “Is because, deep down, you know that what those guys were saying was true.”

Thankfully, Jack was spared from answering by the front door being flung open and Hamish entering, flicking through something on his phone, holding onto the strap of his shoulder bag with his other hand. The door shut behind him and he paused when he saw Jack and Randall and the very used bar. “Uh, what’s happening here?” He didn’t even think when he approached, he just knew that it was something he needed to get involved in.

But he didn’t get the chance, however, because Jack was yanking himself away from Randall and shoving past Hamish. “Nothing,” he snapped as he stumbled towards the stairs. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Jack-”

“I’m fine!”

A door slammed somewhere up above. Jack didn’t have a room in the Knights Den yet, and Randall knew that he was probably barricading himself in one of the bathrooms. He wanted to follow him up but knew that probably wasn’t going to be a very good idea.

Hamish sighed and placed his hands on his hips as he glanced over the bar. “Well? What on earth is going on with him? That seemed drastic.”

Part of Randall thought that telling Hamish would be beneficial for the future of the team considering Hamish was the leader and would act accordingly. But the other part of him decided that it was none of his business, and not his story to share. He decided to follow both instincts. “Not too sure, Ham,” he said. “But if you want my opinion, I think we should keep an eye on him for a little while.”

Frowning, Hamish eyed the bar. “Did he drink all that?” Randall nodded and Hamish scoffed. “Must have been a bad day then. Why didn’t he just reuse the same glass? Did I not teach that boy anything? And look at the state of my liquor cabinet! Disgraceful! I swear-”

Randall left Hamish alone to rant about the state of things, patting him on the arm as he passed, and eyed the stairs wearily for any sign of Jack, hoping he would see him again at least once more tonight.

Lilith was harder. She didn’t wear her heart on her sleeve as the others did and kept things close to the chest. She was a very difficult woman to figure out, but Randall liked to think that after all this time, he could understand her pretty well, considering everything they had gone through together. She was brash and abrasive and violent, always ready for a run through the woods or a fight with a mage and was more than happy to tear people apart with her teeth. But there was something else there too, something vulnerable and soft that she kept hidden deep within herself that Randall liked to think that he knew more than the others.

He had always been perceptive, intuitive, so unlike the others, he noticed the way she was holding herself and stayed further away than normal, the grit teeth and the wince that spread across her face every now and then before it was wiped clean and replaced by her usual cocky, sure expression. It was faint and rare, but Randall was watching her very closely, and managed to catch it.

She was standing in the corner while Randall lounged in a beanbag when Jack and Hamish entered the room, empty bags slung over their shoulders in preparation, looking eager. “We’re going for a run. See if we can hunt any deer on the way back,” Hamish said. “I’m going to show Jack all the best places. Want to tag along?”

“I’m down,” Lilith said, though there was a hesitation there that nobody else seemed to notice. “I’m always ready for a good hunt.”

Jack was practically bouncing with his excitement, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “What about you, Randall? Are you coming?”

Now, Randall loved a good hunt and a nice run as much as the next wolf, but watching Lilith, watching the way she was holding herself, the way she was breathing, the way she was wincing at every movement no matter how small… he was a med student, after all. He knew when things weren’t quite right. And he  _ knew  _ that the last thing Lilith needed was to go for a run. But he knew his pack, and was keenly aware that Lilith would kill him if he said anything or made a big deal.

“Nah, not tonight. I’m not feeling too great,” He lied. “Actually, Lilith, do you mind staying back and keeping me company?”

Frowning, Lilith turned to face him, eyebrows pinched together as she tried to hold back another wince.”Me? Why me?”

“Because I like you,” Randall said simply “And I like your company.”

“I don’t know if that was a diss that we should be offended by,” Jack joked as he elbowed Hamish in the side.

Lilith looked about to protest, subtly covering her side with her hand before ultimately giving in. “Alright. Fine. I guess I’m on babysitting duty then,” she turned to a patiently waiting Hamish. “You guys go, but make sure you bring us back some of the spoils. You know how much I hate missing out.”

“No promises,” Hamish teased as he followed Jack out the front door. “Feel better soon, Hamish. Hopefully, before you’re needed.”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Randall called after their retreating backs. “Just ate some dodgy seafood. It’ll pass.”

When the door shut behind them and it was just Randall and Lilith, she turned to him with her arms crossed and a suspicious expression on her face. “I didn’t know that you’d eaten seafood recently.”

“I didn’t,” Randall said, standing from the beanbag and crossing the room to Lilith’s side before she could blink. “But you got hurt during the fight this morning, didn’t you?”

“Randall, come on,” Lilith complained as she tried to move away. He reached out and placed a hand on her side, prodding around for the shifting of broken bones, which he found very quickly. It was a sensation that he had grown familiar with after his time at Belgraves and as a Knight. “Ow! Asshole!”

She swatted him away just as he took a step away, their hands colliding for a second. “Yep, I thought so. Your ribs are broken.”

Sceptical, Lilith raised her eyebrows. “How are you so sure?”

“Because I’m pre-med. Dumbass.” Randall crossed his arms in a mirror image of Lilith’s stance. “Why didn’t you tell anyone that you were hurt? And with broken ribs no less. Not a jammed finger or sprained wrist.”

“I knew that they would heal,” she shrugged. “I didn’t want to bother anyone with it.” He fixed her with a stare, which she easily reciprocated. He took a swing at her, slow and mostly just for show, but Lilith dodged it anyway and winced immediately at the motion, clutching at her side. Randall rose his eyebrows at her, and she averted her gaze. “Randall,” she said. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you are,” Randall rolled his eyes. Lilith looked about to protest, but changed her mind. He reached out and gently tugged her by her shirt towards the kitchen. “Come on, Kilith.”

“Where are we going?” Lilith asked as she reluctantly followed after him.

“To the kitchen,” he tossed back over his shoulder. “I know that there’s a serving of your favourite snack with your name on it. Because let's be real, Jack and Hamish won’t control themselves long enough to bring us our share. Not even the leftovers,” he made a face.

She laughed, and it was such a soft and gentle sound that he almost missed it, and he knew that if he turned around, she would be smiling. “Yeah, alright. I guess that’s true.”

Ten minutes later, they were seated around the kitchen counter with the whole house smelling of burning popcorn and a bowl of soft, white kernels placed between them in a huge mixing bowl. “Hamish is going to freak when he comes back to the place stinking of popcorn, you know,”

“Probably,” Randall shrugged. “We’ll just open some windows and hope that the smell goes away by the time they get back,” he threw a piece of popcorn up into the air and caught it with his mouth. “So? Spill.”

“What?” Lilith scrunched her nose up and grabbed a fist-sized portion of popcorn from the bowl, dumping it on the empty counter space before her. “Did you have something in mind that you wanted to chat about or are you just bored and in a talking mood?”

“I’m always in a talking mood,” Randall waved his hand absently. “But no, I want to know why you’ve looked like someone just fucked your dog.” He paused as he thought it over.

Disgusted, Lilith stuck out her tongue and pushed her popcorn away. “Ew, Randall. I’m eating.”

“Yeah, ew is right. That came out wrong,” he made a face at his own foolishness. “But you know what I meant. My point still stands.” he busied himself with the popcorn for a moment. “What’s been on your mind?”

For a few moments, Randall wasn’t sure if she would answer him and they sat together in silence. He knew better than to push her, but he also knew that whatever it was, she would feel better to get it off her chest. So he waited in silence other than the chewing of popcorn and the ticking of that annoying clock on the far wall. He tried not to make it quite so obvious that he was watching her out the corner of his eye, but his patience paid off, as eventually she made a frustrated noise deep in her throat and turned her head away sharp enough to make her hair fly forward to cover her face. “I feel like I dropped the ball on our last fight,” She said haltingly.

“Oh,” Randall blinked, sitting back against his chair. “Is that all? I thought it was going to be something horrific. Everybody has off days. You had a bad fight. So what? One bad battle out of a thousand good ones isn’t a bad track record, you know. You’re allowed to have off days.”

“Yeah,” Lilith sounded bitter. “But the only time it happens to me, and I’m shown up by Jack-fucking-Morton. The noob. The new wolf.”

“So  _ what _ ?” Randall scoffed. “He’s allowed to have a good day every now and then. And that hasn’t changed the fact that we all know you could kick our asses without ever trying. And, believe me, Jack knows it too. He’s not  _ that  _ cocky.”

“You and I both know that he’s already let it go to his head.”

“On the contrary, I think he’s already forgotten about it.”

Grumbling, Lilith crossed her arms across her chest despite the broken ribs. “Yeah, well, I haven’t.”

Randall looked at her carefully. She wouldn’t look at him. Though Randall couldn’t see her face, Greybeard was uneasy. Not necessarily worried, but not all that settled either. Uncomfortable, almost. Like the very tectonic plates had shifted. And in many ways, it had. Lilith was the metaphorical rock of the Knights, and if something was wrong with their foundation, then their whole world would come tumbling down. “Come on, Lil,” she made a face at the nickname. “Tell me what's bothering you. It’s just you and me here. You know you can tell me anything.”

Ultimately, she relented, just as he knew she would. He could be annoying when he really wanted. “I just feel like I’m getting… sloppy, you know?” she looked away once again and this time Randall shifted to keep her gaze. “Like I’ve lost my edge. Like I’m not as good as I used to be.”

“Why? Because Jack had a lucky day that coincided with your bad one?” Randall asked. “We know that you’re the best fighter among us, and one lucky day on Jack’s part isn’t going to change that. By that logic, you’d be saying that Hamish was sexier than me because he looks better with his shirt off.”

She turned only to raise her eyebrows at him. “You’ve seen Hamish with his shirt off?”

“Haven’t you?” Randall replied. “But you’re deflecting. Stop trying to change the subject.”

“I don’t know how to explain it to you, Randall. I doubt you’d even understand,” Lilith sighed as she reached up and pushed her hair out of her face, leaving a hand on the top of her head. “I just feel like everything had changed since Jack became one of us. It’s not bad and I love that kid, but I feel like there’s not enough space for all of us anymore. Like I no longer have a place here.”

“That's ridiculous,” Randall scoffed. “You would never be replaced and Jack joining the Knights isn’t going to overshadow your glory.”

“Hear me out though,” Lilith insisted. “I never thought you guys would replace me. You couldn’t even if you tried. But it just feels like we-  _ I-  _ have to work harder to be seen lately. And with working harder than I ever have before for a competition that's only in my head, I’ve realized that I’m getting-”

“Sloppy,” Randall finished for her, finally understanding. “And that's why you got hurt so badly during this last fight, right?” Lilith shrugged, releasing her hair and letting it fall back around her face. “Well, let me be the first to assure you that, to be very clear, that is  _ not  _ the case.”

“How can you be so sure though, Randall?” Lilith sounded… sad almost. Scared. Randall hated it. Angry he could deal with, but sad? Not so much. “We were doing fine with just the three of us. I love him, but now that Jack’s here… what if it’s the wolves way of trying to kick me out of the Knights?”

“Hey,” Randall reached across the table and rested his hand over Lilith’s. She didn’t pull away. “You can’t think like that, you know it’s not true. You know the Knights don’t replace members willy-nilly. And Jack isn’t like that, neither is Hamish. I know that sometimes those thoughts won't go away, but I’m telling you, it isn’t going to happen.”

“Randall-”

He squeezed her hand. “ _ I _ won’t let that happen,” he insisted, and Lilith glanced up to meet his eye through her hair. “You aren’t getting away from us that easily.”

She smiled then, and it was so rare and pure that Randall could only watch her for a moment, blessed that she felt safe enough to share it with him. “Thanks, Randall.”

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah.”

Randall nodded towards the staircase. “You should go to bed, let those broken ribs heal. I’ll cover for you when the others get back. And you can take the popcorn up there- I won’t tell Hamish.”

Lilith stood, and though she didn’t smile again, Randall knew she was in a better mood as he swiped the bowl of popcorn off the counter, that familiar glint returning to her eyes. “I’ll probably feel better by tonight,” she called out as she ascended the stairs. “So I’ll probably see you for dinner.”

Watching her go, Randall remained on his seat at the bench, recalling the brightness of Lilith's dazzling smile.

For as long as he had known him, Hamish had been an enigma, and Randall suspected that he always would be. On one hand, he was open and considerate and kind and was never afraid to share what was on his mind. On the other hand, Randall realized that he didn’t know anything about him past what he wanted to share. He was a great wolf, a great leader, and an even better guy.

He hadn’t exactly been trying to keep track of the days, but Randall had a feeling that the anniversary was coming up just because Greybeard remembered when it happened, but he also knew just by watching Hamish for the past week that it was approaching and that when it hit, it would hit hard.

Which was why he hadn’t been surprised when he snuck out of his bedroom at three in the morning with the intention to take a leak and grab a glass of water to see light coming from downstairs and the familiar clinking of ice against the sides of an empty glass.

He made up his mind instantly to go down and pay his friend a visit but found himself pausing at the top of the stairs. Maybe Hamish didn’t want company. Maybe he should wake Lilith and have her help deal with it. Maybe he should turn around and go back to bed and forget this ever happened. But he couldn’t in good conscious leave Hamish alone downstairs on tonight of all nights and knew from experience that he could use a friend to share a couple of those drinks with.

So Randall found himself descending the stairs one at a time a silently as he could, Greybeard rumbling nervously behind his ribcage until he touched down on the first floor, the wooden panels cool under his bare feet. Hamish was in the kitchen, seated with his back towards Randall with a full glass of hard bourbon between his fingers and a couple of tall bottles of dark liquor, his head pillowed on his hand.

He just stood there for a moment, leaning against the doorframe. Hamish didn’t react to his presence, just sat there against the counter in utter silence. His hair was messy like he’d been tugging at it and his dress shirt was buttoned all wrong. His shoulders were tense and shaking, his hand tight around his glass.

“I have another glass if you’d like to join me,” Hamish said before Randall could react. He sounded tired, drained, maybe a little bit drunk. Or a lot drunk.

“How did you know I was here?” Randall asked as he stuck his hand in his pyjama pants and walked into the room, his feet gliding silently across the floorboards.

Hamish waved a dismissing hand. “I could smell you the moment you walked down the stairs. You have  _ terrible  _ morning breath.”

“Wow, way to make a man feel self-conscious,” Randall tried for a joke as he rested his hands on the back of a chair, but it didn’t land the way it normally would. Hamish wouldn’t look at him. “Are you OK, man?

“I’m fine,” Hamish said as he held his glass against his lips. His voice was both too dull and too strained at the same time. His eyes were red and glistening, his cheeks tear-stained and crusted. “I’m fine.”

Sighing, Randall pulled out the chair and sat heavily onto it, as close to Hamish as he could be without being stifling and leant forward with his arms folded on the counter to look upwards into Hamish’s face. “No you’re not, man. Do you want to talk about it?”

Shrugging, Hamish sipped at his drink from the space between his splayed fingers. His shrug could hardly be called a shrug and was more a heavy rise and fall of his shoulders. “No, no really. It’s not like neither of us know what’s going on.”

“It’s three in the morning, Ham.”

“You know that I do my best brooding at ungodly hours of the morning.”

Though Randall wanted to sigh again, he thought it best not to. He wrapped his hand around the glass Hamish had pushed his way and slid it across the counter for Hamish to fill with the last remains of the bourbon, and he slid the now empty bottle to join the other empty bottles on the corner of the counter. “Well, unlike you, I prefer to brood whenever I want and not schedule it to a certain time-”

“Randall,” Hamish interrupted, sharply but not unkindly. “If you’re here to try and make me feel better, or to take my mind off it, save it. I’m not in the mood for drinking games.”

“You are drinking, though,” Randall nodded towards the new bottle Hamish dragged over, the cracking of the seal being broken as he twisted the cap off the newest bottle loud in the following silence of his words. “Pretty heavily, too, by the looks of it.”

“Yeah, well,” Hamish sounded bitter as he poured himself another drink. “I’m drinking to forget, not to have fun.”

All Randall could do was watch him pour the drink and put the bottle down with a heavy clank of glass on marble. “Do you want to tell me about her? Cassie?”

Instead of answering, Hamish occupied himself with twisting the glass around in his fingers, the bottom of the glass making a high-pitched scratching sound on the smooth countertop. “There’s nothing to talk about. You know how she died. How they all died.”

“I never got to meet her,” Hamish reminded him. “What was she like? She must have been pretty cool for you to fall in love with her.”

It was just a faint quirk of his lips, but Hamish smiled for the first time all night. “She was,” he said reverently. “She really was,”

“Well?” Randall pressed when he got tired of waiting for Hamish to finish the thought, and he elbowed Hamish in the side, rocking him back and forth in his seat. “Come on, man, don’t leave me hanging! What was she like?”

“She was…” Hamish seemed at a loss for words. “Kind, and beautiful, and fierce, and determined, and the bravest person I had ever met. She never took no from anybody, and she refused to put up with anyone's shit. She was tough, and she was pugnacious but… she was also gentle, and loving, and patient. She was the perfect mix of every attribute that you could find in a woman. And I… I was addicted to her.”

“You fell  _ hard _ , Hay-man,” Randall laughed, leaning forward on his arms so he could get a good look at the cheesy, drunken smile that stretched across Hamish’s face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you quite this sappy.”

“Yeah, well, that’s probably all the alcohol talking,” Hamish smiled into his glass. It fell abruptly, and his clouded eyes grew dark and haunted, like a quickly approaching storm. “They’re all dead, now. Cassie and Dylan and Scott. They’re all dead, and I’m all that’s left.”

“You’ve got us now, right?” Randall tried.

“Sure, but you’re not Scott, and Gabrielle isn’t Dylan, we didn't even have a Silverback,” Hamish sighed. “And Lilith isn’t Cassie. She died today, four years ago. They all did. Everyone but me. Cowardly Hamish, who hid and ran while the others died instead of staying behind to save them. I could have, you know. Saved them. It should have been me. My life for all of theirs would be a measly price to pay, and it'd be one I would pay in a heartbeat.

Randall did sigh then, something dragged up from his very soul, and reached out to rest a hand on Hamish’s back. He was not at all surprised to find him quivering under his palm. “Come on, Hamish, you can’t do this to yourself. That was a long time ago. It’s all in the past. There’s nothing you can do about it now.”

“Tundra, the most cunning wolf, and Hamish, the weakest man. What a pair we make,” he muttered into his glass, mostly to himself. “And look at me now. This isn’t the man who Cassie fell in love with. This isn’t the man she chose.”

Randall said nothing, and all he could do was watch him as he stared blindly at the countertop, his finger idly cycling the rim of his glass. He was leaning heavily on his elbow, and Randall could see his eyelids grow heavy. They had been in this situation too many times for Randall to count, and he knew what would happen next better than he knew his own face in the mirror. It had become common occurrences around the Den, either he or Lilith or now sometimes Jack finding Hamish like this at random points of the day or night and sitting with him until they couldn’t bear it any more. “Come on,” he said, standing from his chair and dragging Hamish with him. He pushed away his glass when Hamish made a disgruntled sound and reached for it, and it slid across the counter, but thankfully didn’t spill. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He carried most of Hamish’s weight up the stairs, helping him get his barrings as he cursed under his breath and spoke in tongues Randall didn’t understand, and finally, painfully, dragged him to his bedroom. Randall helped him get into bed and tucked him under the covers, realizing that while his outward persona was immaculate and put together, his bedroom was  _ not _ , and he was forced to step around discarded alcohol bottles and crushed cans and forgotten party supplies from events long ago, as he listened to Hamish mumble Cassie’s name on his alcohol-soaked breath, and Randall had the forethought to bring the old framed photograph of a younger, happier Hamish with his arm around the woman he knew to be Cassie for Hamish to fall asleep to and wake up beside tomorrow morning in his hangover induced haze before he left the room and shut the door behind him.

He was not alone in the hallway, and he turned to see Lilith standing at the threshold of her room, bleary-eyed, the sleeves of her nightshirt longer than the tips of her fingers, woken by the commotion. An unspoken message passed between them, and without a word, they both went their separate ways, returning to their rooms, planning on never speaking of this night again but remembering it always.

Randall had no idea why he put so much effort into making these people feel better about themselves. Maybe he hoped that the favour would be repaid someday? Regardless, it just felt like the right thing to do, it felt right in his soul like a missing piece finally clicked into place. It was hard, sometimes. Of course, it was. It was hard watching Jack pretend to be someone he wasn’t because that’s all he’s ever known. It was hard watching Lilith keep secrets from them because she was afraid of being seen as weak. It was hard watching Hamish drink himself into a stupor because his pain ate away at him from the inside. If he knew that he could do something about it, why wouldn’t he?

Maybe Randall was always supposed to be a wolf. Maybe he was destined to be a Knight. Helping people was not just a part of his personality, a part of his cause, but it was a part of his soul. He helped people without even trying, sometimes, and that was just the way he liked it.

Maybe he wasn’t quite so broken as the rest of the wolves was, but he could fix them, piece by bloodied piece, even if they fought him, kicking and screaming. Because what else are families for if you can’t lift them up when they fall, pick them up when they stumble, wipe away their tears when they cry, offer a shoulder to lean on? Maybe he was always supposed to be here, with these people. Maybe they always needed him to fix them.

But his kindness was not weakness, despite his grand abundance of it, and god forbid the poor soul who dares to ever make that mistake.


End file.
